


In Memoriam

by balogan03, civil_war_was_a_disaster (balogan03)



Series: Time (Getting Beating to the Ground by Your "Friend" With the Help of Your Parents' Murderer) Really Puts Things in Perspective [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), New Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, M/M, Tony Has A Prosthetic, Tony Stark's Gauntlet is a Prosthetic, and a family, harley and riri are canonly competitive siblings, jane and valkyrie aren’t in this but they gay, jessica and luke are in love, not team Cap friendly, sharon and nat have the gays for each other, sharon is bff with everyone, stephen loves tony and wants to protect him, the new avengers are a team, they are also my otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balogan03/pseuds/balogan03, https://archiveofourown.org/users/balogan03/pseuds/civil_war_was_a_disaster
Summary: Two years have passed. Stephen is happy and he's pretty sure Tony is also happy as an appreciated and valued member of the New Avengers. But the sun-rays of happiness are suddenly darkened by a dark cloud known as the Rogue Avengers, who have come back as the threat of Thanos yearns closer.





	1. Welcoming the Muggles

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on Lord Tennyson's elegy "In Memoriam". Although it was written the year he was married, it's a bunch of sad poems because of his friend's sudden death.
> 
> I thought it kind of fit because Tennyson's year start off happy then became a pool of grief because of his friend's death, and Tony and Stephen were happy until the Rogues get pardoned.
> 
> Or something like that.
> 
> But anyway! I finally got a part two!
> 
> ps. I used the Xhosa term for lover instead of girlfriend or boyfriend when T'Challa was teasing Shuri because I haven't figured out if Shuri should be with Peter or Riri.
> 
> (Both pairings are both very enticing for me!)

**Chapter One:** Welcoming the Muggles

**12:32 p.m.**

_ Avengers Compound _

_ Upstate New York, New York _

  


Stephen Strange stood by idly, eyes downcast with boredom as he picked out dirt from under his fingernails. Clumps of semi-dried dirt stuck to his hair and clung to his dark sorcerer garb, courtesy of a recent fight with a scared inhuman teenager who could control the Earth.

The only lucky thing about the encounter was that he didn’t have the Cloak of Levitation on at the time so it wasn’t throwing a fit about being dirty. It just refused to wrap around Stephen and instead hovered next to him, sometimes making mocking gestures at him that had him sneering at it.

Beside him stood Carol Danvers, the infamous Captain Marvel, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders as she waited in her familiar red, yellow, and blue uniform. A firm expression was on her face, her body language patient and only slightly tense. She looked every bit the leader of the Avengers, both officially and unofficially.

On her other side was Colonel James Rhodes, stern and dangerous looking in his War Machine suit. The faceplate was retracted to show the slight tightening of his face as every second passed. The armor hid the braces that wrapped around his legs like metal ivy, but Stephen could almost hear the faint _ whirl _-ing of the hidden mechanisms as Jim tensely shifted his feet.

Hope Van Dyne was next to him, worrying her bottom lip as she uncrossed and crossed her arms. She was a cutting figure in her sharp blue skirt suit. A smaller than average metal briefcase dangled from her hand, empty and waiting for the Ant-Man suit to return.

While Stephen continued hard at work at the heroic task of idly clearing the mildly wet dirt from his fingernails, Carol and Jim took the liberty of scanning the horizon for their new arrivals while Hope studied the grey pavement. It was not, to say the least, a _ welcomed _ arrival.

News of the disgraced team’s pardon for all American-based crimes had reached the Avengers a few days earlier.

Since then, the air in the Compound had been a nervous frizz, especially around Tony, who became somewhat of a rare sight to see outside of his workshop.

He had even skipped out on the team’s weekly movie- and game-nights - something that he hadn’t missed since the first few weeks of being on a new team, when he was still hesitant about his place among them.

Stephen did not appreciate how distressed Tony was. He knew that Tony had been personally lobbying for the former team’s return, but the man seemed unsure and uneasy in the past days. He frequently stated whenever someone asked - usually Harley or Peter - that bringing the Rogues back was a necessary evil against a vicious threat.

Thanos and his army, Tony claimed, were preparing to attack Earth. Along with helping with the ongoing construction plans to rebuild New Asgard for the recent arrivals of the Asgardian refugees - who Norway had accepted with welcoming and surprising arms - Tony was running himself ragged trying to come up with new defenses alongside other people, such as Reed Richards, Bruce Banner, Loki and Thor, Princess Shuri, and the Guardians of the Galaxy who’d come in contact with Thanos and his minions before.

On the morning of the Rogues’ arrival by quinjet, Tony had slipped in the main kitchen, grabbed a steaming mug of coffee, and briefly kissed Stephen before bolting back to his workshop in a nervous flash of gold and red.

Thanks to FRIDAY, Stephen knew that Tony was working in blackout mode and guessed that right around now Tony would be looking over some blueprints, his prosthetics off as he relaxed without the now familiar red and gold arm. Although Tony no longer outright hated the prosthetic hand as he had two years ago when he and Stephen had first met (and later got into a relationship), Tony once told him that it felt nice to be without it for a minute or two.

The news of the pardons had not only affected Tony. Everyone on the main team knew some version of the events that went down in the media-coined “Civil War”.

Peter and Harley were some of the few who took the Rogues’ actions more personally and were much more open in their . . . _ dislike _of the former Avengers.

The last time Stephen had seen the two, a little over two hours ago, they were talking lowly with the bots in the lab, heads bent over what looked like an advanced prototype of Harley’s potato gun.

Riri wasn’t with them but he could see her added tweaks to the potato gun from a mile away. She too was taking the pardons personally, albeit not as extreme as the boys; she always _ was _ the most level headed of the four Junior Avengers.

If Kamala hadn’t been taking a day off to spend time with her family, Stephen would have bet that she would have also been crowded around Harley’s gun, suggesting plans of attack with a gleaming grin on the tip of her lips.

He’d shrugged at the time, simply thinking that it was a good thing that Tony had strictly forbid temporary or permanent injuries - otherwise the boys would have been fiddling with one of Harley’s repulsors instead.

Another person who seemed to take it very seriously was Jessica Jones, who’s eyes darkened dangerously when news of Maximoff’s mind-raping got aired out by the media. Her history with mind-manipulation wasn’t really spoken about but it clearly affected her in ways that were horrifying.

She had taken a day off with Luke. The last time Stephen had seen the two, Jessica was frowning - arms crossed - as she fought back a smile as Luke presented her with a sweet bouquet with his own smile wide and happy - both ready to distract themselves from the shitshow that was going down.

Carol and the rest of Jessica’s New York-based team, however, seemed unbiased except for the occasional displeased frown whenever a reference of the old Avengers came up on the news. It wasn’t a surprise. Carol was the most detached from the situation, as she had been in space at the time, and Luke, Danny, and Daredevil were too busy in New York to have been involved as much as everybody else had.

Something that surprised Stephen was that Pepper and Jim weren’t sharpening their hunting knives. He guessed that Tony probably said something to them, possibly along the same lines as what he told Peter and Harley.

Knowing _ Pepper _, she would have probably already perfected a thousand different ways to tear her enemies down until they were just smoldering pieces of garbage without putting a hand on them.

Stephen did admit to himself that he was also taking their crimes very seriously. Mostly because their actions had hurt Tony dearly, and still did (if Tony’s nightmares were anything to go by).

He also took offense to how stupid a lot of Steve Rogers’s actions were. He was a man of logic and reason, through and through. While heavy emotion did sway his decisions and reasoning at unexpected times, Stephen had always been a critic of people who were ruled entirely by their heart without considering how their actions affect other people in the world. Maybe if the man had used his words instead of his fists to argue about the Accords, things would have been different. But even then, Stephen knew that the Accords barely had any part in the break up that ended with most of the team as fugitives.

Steve Rogers hadn’t voiced any valid concerns about the Accords. And Stephen knew that there were many things wrong with the documents (Daredevil, when Tony had first gone to him about the Accords, had returned the documents with red ink staining every paper). But the man chose not to negotiate like a normal person. Instead, he heard Bucky Barnes’s name and every sense of reason flew out of his brain, along with his five brain cells.

Stephen felt a lot of anger and worry, which he was able to project into protecting his boyfriend. Instead of waiting around for the jet to land, he wanted to be with Tony in his workshop or perhaps reading up on more protective spells that blocked Maximoff’s magic.

Although there were certain areas of the Compound that were magic-proof per the request of some of the X-Men students who were part of the Avengers exchange program, and despite the fact that Tony himself had protective talismans placed on his person, Stephen knew that it was unwise to put his guard down around the Rogues.

Last time someone underestimated them, people died and a lot were injured as they wrecked havoc around the world trying to selfishly protect Rogers’s murderer buddy.

The doctor and rationalist in him knew that Barnes couldn't be held responsible for the murders committed over the years because he was brainwashed. However, the emotional part of him, a part of him he’d always deemed insignificant, venomously argued that Tony had been hurt because of Barnes.

He saw it every time Tony got lost in his thoughts and rubbed his metal arm blankly. Stephen sometimes wondered if the arm reminded him of the arm that had strangled his mother, a train of through that he knew could never be voiced to Tony.

It had taken a year of them being in a steady relationship for Tony to trust him with the videos of his parent’s murder and the fight that occurred in Siberia, which was so disturbing for Tony that only Vision, Pepper, and Rhodey had seen it.

It was disgusting to know that Rogers was so self-righteous that he kept the Starks’ murders secret because “it was the best” according to Rogers. It was the same self-righteousness that probably made him think he knew what was better for the people they so mulishly claimed to protect.

It angered Stephen whenever he thought about it too hard. Lying and acting so self-righteous concerning something that was up to other people had always been a good way to rile him up - ever since he was a little kid and first figured out what a lie even was.

He slid his thumbnail underneath his middle finger, scraping the dirt unevenly. The feel of dirt was not one he enjoyed and once again wished he’d had time for a quick shower, maybe with Tony; except he doubted he’d do much _ showering _-

The slight tightening of Carol’s body caught his attention (and just when his thoughts were getting _ good _), and he lazily flicked his eyes up.

King T’Challa’s jet had already landed while he was distracted, almost impossibly quiet, and was quickly advancing towards them, wheels on the plane’s underside quietly crunched the gravel underneath.

The cloak enthusiastically wiggled in the air, its excitement coming off in waves. Stephen figured it had sensed Shuri on the plane. From the first time Shuri had seen the cloak, wrapped around Peter (thankfully still in his Spider-Man suit) despite the boy’s best efforts to get freed, she’d unofficially adopted it as her new friend and had taken to calling it _ Levi _ . Since that incident, Peter was referred to as _ Spiderdork _ by her as well.

The plane came to a steady stop in front of them. From the corner of his eye, he could see Carol eyeing the craft appreciatively. He knew from experience that she often felt nostalgic about flying a plane and could sometimes spend hours expertly talking about aircrafts with Jim.

Sleek squares of vibranium flew out of the ship’s opened slots and seamlessly formed together to create a ramp. The doors slid open without a whisper of sound and King T’Challa, along with his dangerous, steel-eyed bodyguards, greeted them with a smile.

They’d barely managed to exchange pleasantries before Shuri bounced down the ramp, far more noisier than her brother, with an unrestrained grin stretching her lips. “Levi!” she cried happily, running to the cloak with a sense of silliness clinging to her movements. _ Levi _ \- Stephen internally shivered, he hated that name - met her halfway and wrapped around her entirely, spinning her around in a vague imitation of a hug.

“Tony isn’t here?” the king asked. Stephen raised an eyebrow at T’Challa, who was eyeing his dirty getup testedily

“You know he’s still cooped up in his lab,” Carol answered, a small slip in her professional mask showcasing her concern. “Besides, only team leaders are required to attend, and Hope” - she gestured to Hope, who had stiffly straightened up at the sight of the jet - “is here to collect the Ant-Man suit.”

T’Challa’s lips twisted distastefully. “_ They _ will not be happy about either of these developments.”

Stephen wanted to laugh. Tony had told him firsthand how much of a hassle the Rogues were to T’Challa and often claimed that most of their Accords amendment meetings via facecalls were spent with T’Challa complaining about them. (“It’s a great way to bond,” Tony claimed, eyes shining as his hand brushed Stephen’s almost shyly.)

Personally, he thought T’Challa deserved it for freely allowing a group of fugitives into Wakanda as though they were on vacation in a beautiful country instead of on the run. He’d never voiced his opinion out loud because T’Challa had grown on him through his dry wit and their excellent team-ups against villains of the week. Now he mostly felt sympathy for the King; he could remember what it was like to be around idiots who were too pig-headed to admit their mistakes.

“That bad?” James asked, partly sympathetic and partly amused.

Shuri separated from the cloak, allowing it to attach to her neck as though she was the Sorcerer Supreme instead of Stephen (but he had to admit that the look suited her). She snorted and a similar frown stretched her lips down.

“That’s an understatement. They’re probably still on the jet because they wanted to finish up their most recent “Tony Stark is a monster” rant.” She rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the Compound. “I’m going to go find Spider-Dork and the Iron Twins.”

She turned around, the cloak billowing behind her in a show of power. T’Challa grinned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at her back: “Say hello to your _ umthandi* _ for me.” _ (*lover). _

Without looking back, Shuri threw him the bird before disappearing behind the sliding doors of the Compound. T’Challa shook his head, amused, before the look melted off as people started getting off the jet.

Barely noticeable, Stephen noted the Dora Milaje perfected, army-like lines behind the king slightly tensioning as the Rogues filed out and stood in a loose half circle with Rogers as their ringleader. Bucky Barnes, a big man who somehow seemed to radiate his vulnerability, came out after them and made a point of standing away from the rest of them. With his greasy hair covering most of his face and one of his arms just a stump, he looked more like a homeless person than a dangerous HYDRA weapon.

T’Challa cleared his throat, cooly studying them as though he was calculating how soon a fight would break out. “I need to go to a meeting,” he said, vaguely pointing to the Compound. He nodded at Carol respectfully, which she returned automatically. “I will catch up with you later, Major.” And he walked off, Dora Milaje around him as they shielded the group’s view of the king’s retreating back.

Hope didn’t seem to notice T’Challa’s graceful retreat, her attention exclusively on Scott Lang, lips pressed together in a neutral, pale line as her hand began turning white from the tightening grip on the briefcase. After a second of most of the Rogues looking at the four team leaders curiously, Hope cleared her throat and attention snapped to her.

“First things first,” she announced, eyes hardening as she looked at Scott head-on. “I need the Ant-Man suit, Scott. _ Now _.”

Clearly, Scott Lang possessed the brain cells required to not argue with Hope as he dug into his pocket and brought the miniaturized suit, handing it over with a dismayed frown. “Hope . . . ,” he started off, voice pitiful and sad. His head somehow lowered even more as Hope stared him down.

“Not now, Scott.” She seemed tired all of a sudden, face sagging as she clicked the briefcase open and carefully secured the suit inside. “This is not the time. Definitely not the time.”

As he watched Scott Lang’s expression get sadder, Stephen saw Steve Rogers straighten up, his chest puffing out as he jumped to the man’s defense. He sort of reminded Stephen of a male peacock, flashy and dramatic - always wanting to be the center of attention. The comparison was so bizarre and out there that he knew it absolutely came from spending too much time with Tony.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I have to disagree with you,” Rogers said bullishly. “Scott is a valuable team member and I don’t think you’re the right person to decide whether he should keep his suit or not.”

Hope froze and Scott’s face deepened in horror. “Excuse me?” Her voice was blank - somehow increasing her icy attitude by her unbreakable mask of creepy calmness.

“We’ve seen you on T.V. with Stark,” Barton stepped up to explain, a tone of disgust entering his speech as he said Tony’s name, “You’re clearly biased, and it would be fairer to have someone else decide these kinds of things. We don’t know you that well, lady, and for all we know, you’re jumping into bed with Stark.”

“No offense, Mr. Barton, Mr. Rogers, but stay the hell out of this,” Hope replied mercilessly as Scott glared at Barton before winced apologetically at his ex-girlfriend. “You didn’t design the suit or have any sort of claim to it. My father created the Ant-Man suit and I am here to collect it on his behalf. And it’s Ms. Van Dyne to you and the rest of your” - her nose wrinkled in a way that made Stephen wondering if she was taking lessons from Tony on how to subtly insult somebody - “_ friends _ . And I imagine that if I _ were _ jumping into bed with Tony, his _ boyfriend _wouldn’t like that.”

Stephen didn’t react, except for a tightening of muscle as he shoved down his bubbling laughter. It was a tactic, one she probably picked up from years of business experience. Telling the Rogues that she knew Tony was in a relationship that they weren’t aware of was the equivalent of her smugly telling them that she was closer to Tony then they were.

“Come on, Scott, we need to go get you out of this mess.” She turned around and headed to the car parked next to the Compound. Scott scrambled after her, looking like a kicked puppy but not looking back once as he slid in the passenger seat. The car speed away as soon as Scott’s door shut with a sure, resounding slam - deafening almost.

Rogers looked put-out and Barton almost glowed red. Stephen couldn’t figure out which look he liked more.

Carol stepped up. “Welcome back, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barton, Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Wilson, and Ms. Romanoff.

“We are the three team leaders of the Avengers.” She swept her arms to gesture at James and Stephen. “Colonel James Rhodey, the leader of our air support and flight team. Doctor Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, leader of the mystical arts team, and me, the main leader of the Avengers, Major Carol Danvers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She nodded politely, offering no hand for Rogers to shake.

Rogers smiled but there was an edge to it. He opened his mouth and Stephen braced himself for the load of stupidity that would undoubtedly spring from the man’s mouth. “Thank you, Ms. Danvers. And it’s Captain.” He said it firmly, staring down at her and straightening up even more, as though he was standing up against some strong injustice instead of arguing about his rank and title.

“I don’t believe so, _ Private _ . Captain America was just a stage name and then a code name in the field. You never advanced through the ranks before you got the serum. Unfortunately, we aren’t introducing ourselves with our hero names.” Her words were sharp and warned of danger, matching the sudden change in her polite smile. “However, you can address me as Major Danvers or Captain Marvel in the field. Not _ Ms _. I earned my title and I would hate for it to go to waste.”

Rogers suddenly looked sour, and Stephen hid his smirk. Carol lived in the 90’s as an air force pilot and knew a few things about chauvinistic men. It was always very entertaining to watch or hear about. “Very well, Captain Marvel,” Rogers said grumpily, looking as though he had sucked on a lemon. He looked around, eyebrows drawing together. “Where is Tony? He should be here.”

Clint Barton snorted. “What? Is he too _ important _ to be here?”

“Good thing he isn’t here,” Wanda Maximoff said moodily, looking much like a sulking child with her crossed arms and sharp glare.

Stephen’s eyes narrowed as Natasha Romanoff opened her mouth. He quickly cut her off before she joined in on the slaughter of Tony’s character. “Yes,” he agreed, tone flat, “it is a good thing Tony isn’t here to listen to the idiotic things you’re spewing.”

Maximoff’s eyes flashed red and light wisps of scarlet magic circled around her hands, reaching for Stephen. He made a point of yawning loudly as he waved his hand and the red was swept aside by a gold wave of magic. “I’d recommend not using your magic on me,” he said helpfully, enjoying her shocked and outraged face. “As Carol said, I’m the Sorcerer Supreme, and the next time I catch you using your magic on another person who _ isn’t _ an enemy, I’ll lock up your powers.”

“How did you do that?!” Stephen ignored the raging woman and squarely focused on Rogers and Barton.

“And for your information, Captain _ I-have-the-American-flag-tacked-on-my-ass _, Tony isn’t required to be here. So go f-“

Carol put a silencing hand on Stephen’s arm and he unhappily quieted down, face set into an expression of deep loathing. He just hoped she wouldn’t give him a talk about being polite to the Rogues; he’d rather call the cloak Levi than play nice with the annoying pests.

Rogers clenched his fists at his sides and puffed up his chest - a power tactic to make himself seem more powerful. It would have worked, maybe, if Stephen didn’t know that he contained more power in his pinky than Rogers had in his entire body. “You can’t just talk to us like that! We deserve respect.”

Barton looked like he was a second away from attacking Stephen. “Yeah! And _ Sorcerer Supreme _?” He shook his head disgustedly. “How big is your ego? No wonder you’re defending Stark. You guys probably get along like a house and a fire.”

“Oh, trust me. We get along much better than that.” A half-smile creeped up his face as Carol shot him an expressed look and Jim rolled his eyes.

Faintly, Stephen heard Jim mutter, “God, between the two of you, my eyes are going to fall out from rolling my eyes so much. . .”

Romanoff said nothing but her eyes sharpened, interest peaked.

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” he said flatly, pointedly looking at Rogers as he added, “It’s my _ actual _ title, which I inherited and worked hard to earn. Anyway, as Carol said, I lead the mystical arts team - that means Ms. Maximoff will most likely be supervised under me. I’m _ very _excited.”

To send the message, he flashed them an overly enthusiastic grin. It faded just as quickly as it appeared.

Rogers once again looked outraged. “You can’t split us up!”

“Yeah!” Barton jumped in. “Either we’re all on Steve’s team or no team,”

Carol looked surprised and bit her lip. “Didn’t you read your pardons and the new structural revisions to the Avengers?”

Jim snorted as the Rogues all exchanged confused, except for Romanoff - possibly the only one of them who’d even picked up the documents. Stephen rolled his eyes and focused back on Carol.

“What’s there to read?” Barton asked roughly, a sharp frown on his mouth. “Stark realized he was being a dick and _ wrong _ so now we can come home.” Stephen honestly wished he could be there when the divorce lawyer inside the Compound will hand Barton the divorce papers so he could see that mightier-than-thou attitude disappear.

“Alright,” the sorcerer said abruptly, “I said hello, sang kumbaya, and kept the insults at a minimal. Can I please go? I can’t deal with this level of hard headedness.”

Carol sighed and rubbed her forehead tiredly, probably wondering if Stephen would do more harm than good on the tour. She glanced at him again and he mouthed _ they’re idiots _ slowly. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Stephen ground out while shooting the group a look that he’d perfected from years of working in a busy hospital; it clearly told the receiver that he thought they were less important than dirt currently clinging to him.

Quickly making a portal to the front of Tony’s locked workshop, he silently wished the man would let him in so Stephen could offer him comfort via hugs and kisses - hopefully the dirt wouldn’t discourage Tony from giving him a hug.

He ignored the gasps of surprise from said idiots at the sight of the portal and stepped through it, mentally giving Carol and Jim extra strength so they could at least have a chance to survive the rest of the welcome tour.


	2. Sharon Carter Is Tired and Just Wants a Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the first day for the Rogues and already they're causing trouble. Why did Sharon have to be in the middle of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon Carter is amazing and anyone else who believes otherwise is lying to themselves. Sorry I don't make the rules, I just follow them.
> 
> I think out of team cap, i hate steve and wanda the most. MCU!Clint is just annoying and sooo out of character. And Natasha and Sam are the best of the team, so they're redeemable.

**Chapter 2: **Sharon Carter Is Tired and Just Wants a Cat

**3:30 p.m.**

_ Avengers Compound _

_ Upstate New York, New York _

“Come on, Vision, give me the best you’ve got.” Sharon tensed into a defensive position as she stared the android down.

The Vision didn’t move, simply staring at her as he hovered uncertainty. He was obviously still hesitant to make a move against her, and anyone who wasn’t Bruce or Carol - two of the only Avengers who could actually hurt him.

Sharon Carter had only been with the Avengers, officially, for about a solid year - when Tony had reached out to her and offered her a position as a trainer of sorts for the new recruits.

The Accords Council had told her that they would forgive her illegal actions in aiding the Rogues if she accepted the offer, showing them that she had learned from her mistakes and was making “significant steps to make things right.”

The offer was too good to believe but it wasn’t like she had many other choices. She was tired of running for the stupid actions she’d committed.

Looking back, she repeatedly criticized her past self for putting trust in the myth of Captain America, as a trained spy it was a real blow to her pride.

Tony, however, regularly told her that more trained people had fallen for the old glory-filled stories of Captain America, the righteous America Dream™.

Still, the offer from Tony was good for her. At first, she thought she’d get tired of training recruits without getting a taste of real action but it turned out to be quite the opposite.

Over the past year, Sharon had discovered something very important about herself: She was unbelievably _ tired _.

She was very tired about everything. The punches, kicks, the lies, deceit, and the expectation from everybody - especially herself - that she always had to get back up, even when all she wanted to do was _ sleep _, otherwise she wasn’t good enough.

Not good enough to be a spy and not good enough to carry the name “Carter”.

Sharon didn’t want to be on the field anymore. No, she was fine with still kicking ass in the gym and teaching the “new generation” how to kick ass. Her life was steady now - well, as steady as one’s life can be while working with enhanced humans, gods, wizards, and geniuses.

She was currently looking to get a cat and the future she painted for herself didn’t look so bad. Honest work during the day, training superheroes and helping them improve, and then coming home to a cat that would be happy to see her - because her coming home meant dinner.

The past year had gone great. Being around Tony again took her back to when they were small kids and would play around with racing cars for fun. Some of her fondest childhood memories were of Tony taking apart the car to make it into a robot figure - building her a literal _ Transformer _ and giving it to her without a hint of hesitation on his part.

It was fun to hang out in Tony’s workshop, just watching him work on something or another as they talked about memories from their past as well as discussing some of the training (_torture_, Harley would call it) she was putting the kids through.

On the rare occasion that the topic of Steve Rogers came up, Tony would get very quiet and just focused on whatever work he was doing, pointedly avoiding her eyes. Those occasions reminded Sharon of when she had first arrived at the Avengers Compound.

Back then, their conversations were awkward and stilled, a far cry from their now sarcastic and caring chats. She was glad that their relationship was now longer as strained as before and was growing stronger everyday.

In some twisted, strange way, she had Steve Rogers to thank for that. But if she came in contact with Steve again, what she would do to him would be more along the lines of hitting and less of thanking.

  


Despite having limited information, Sharon could make a pretty good guess that whatever happened between Tony and Steve Rogers was what led to Tony’s prosthetic arm. It couldn’t have been an accident, not with Steve Rogers. With Steve Rogers, everything and everyone was _ collateral damage _compared to his Bucky.

Since the announcement that the Rogues had been pardoned in America, Sharon had barely seen a nick of Tony. She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding everyone too, but Sharon couldn’t blame him. She wanted to hide too. But she also wanted to land a punch on Steve Rogers’ perfect teeth.

The anger of being deceived, of being betrayed by her childhood hero, was simmering just under her skin - like a cobra ready to strike. She figured that attacking the Rogues on their first day back wouldn’t be showing the Accords that she was “taking significant steps to make things right” and quickly realized that she needed a distraction.

Jessica had also needed a distraction, which Luke had taken care of. But Sharon’s definition of distraction was more training - training till she was sweaty and bruised in that tired, satisfied way.

The sweat always felt like her emotions were slowly leaking out of her until she was no longer angry, or sad, or whatever it was she was feeling, and the shower afterwards would be refreshing and made her feel like she was starting over again.

But the bruises, the bruises were still there even after she washed the filthiness away - blue, and purple, and every other color on the spectrum.

The pain she felt when she pressed her fingers against them was sharp and sweet, like a knife covered in honey, and Sharon would do it again and again when it was late at night. It reminded her of her hard work and made her feel like she was doing good.

Training Vision in hand-to-hand combat, however, wasn’t necessarily the distraction she was hoping for. Vision was powerful but untrained. It didn’t take a professional to notice that Vision had no training in close combat as he always relied on his “special skills” to win a fight. But as Carol once told the android: “If you have an opponent with better skills than you, you would need to fall back on your better training and technique to win.”

Teaching him the basics of fighting had always been on Sharon’s to-do list, always on the edge of her mind, but the realization that the Rogues were arriving today turned off her impulse control and she had just blurted the question to Vision while at breakfast.

Vision, while he agreed with a slight smile and nod, was still hesitant to attack her even after Sharon demonstrated multiple offense and defense attacks with him.

The android was always unsure of fighting against his teammates, even during training. Sharon knew that it had something to do with Rhodey’s paralyzation.

After the accident, Tony had told her one late night, Vision was too guilty to use his powers for a long time. He’d taken a break from “Avengering” and took the chance to travel the world freely while Tony and Rhodey smoothed the rough parts of the Accords as best as they could with Hope’s help.

Vision had seen the world - from Paris to Dubai- but he still hadn’t picked up any fighting skills. So when he finally re-joined the Avengers, just a little after Sharon had, she’d been slightly horrified to learn that one of the most powerful Avengers didn’t have a smidge of basic training and quietly made it her mission to change it.

A few seconds passed before Vision finally attacked. He went for the weakest link in Sharon’s defensive position (a feeling of approval flowed through her; he was following her advice) and attempted to hit her with a practiced offense attack.

Sharon sidestepped elegantly, not returning his hit and staying on defense as he went for her again. It went on for a few more minutes. He landed a few hits on her (all of them much too soft to actually hurt her) before she decided to stop playing around and pinned him down in one swift move.

He could’ve easily phased through but didn’t - something that she deeply appreciated. She was pinning his left arm behind him while her forearm pressed to his neck threateningly. On a regular man, she would be in the ideal position of being able to break his neck.

“Alright, first things first,” Sharon began, loosening her hold bit by bit, “you were way too-“

The doors to the training area slid open with a slight whirl of its mechanics and they both looked over. A familiar red-magic witch stood in front of the doors, wide-eyed as she took in the scene in front of her.

“Viz!” she yelled, shell-shocked and horrified. Then a dangerously determined glint got into her eyes and Sharon’s stomach sank.

Wanda Maximoff raised her hands and red mist gathered around them. “Don’t hurt him!” she shouted, eyes clouding with that creepy red color as the seconds passed.

Sharon’s eyes widened, watching the mist rush forward. She pushed Vision to the side panickedly and had no time to get out of the way before-

The magic surrounded her full force and she stumbled back as it swarmed her, circling like a shark - as if it was toying with her. The air was thick and she could barely see anything beyond the red, then it hit her.

Sharon could almost feel it. Sharp fingers, merciless and cold, digging into her brain for what seemed like hundreds of hours, pulling out everything it wanted to know as it ignored her cries and pleas for it to _ just stop _-

“Wanda!” Dimly she heard Vision yell, a crash, before the sharp fingers suddenly stopped in their path. Sharon was left panting and weak on the training mat, tired and terrified.

She weakly noticed that she had been screaming. Now boneless and shivering, her brain felt too scrambled for her to even try to scream again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Wanda was unconscious on the ground, surrounded by the many towels that had been in a neat stack before she accidentally grabbed them when she was hit by Vision’s beam of energy. He left her there without a second thought, hurrying over to Sharon. She was barely awake, her eyes fluttering open and shut periodically.

“FRIDAY?” he called out as he kneeled down and pulled Sharon to him. “Please alert Dr. Strange and a medic team.”

“**Already on it** ,” the AI replied quickly. “ **Ms. Carter’s vitals appear to be stable** ” - the thin bracelet on Sharon’s left wrist beeped and a hologram erupted from it, showcasing Sharon’s heartbeat and brain activity - “ **however it seems that the commotion has attracted the attention of Rogers and Barton.**”

The two unexpected additions would undoubtedly cause more problems, so he barely thought of it before firmly asking, “Please lock the doors until the medic team comes.”

He looked down at her shivering body and his insides turned with worry. Vision didn’t know what he would do if Sharon didn’t turn out okay. Wanda’s magic was unpredictable, Vision knew that more than anybody.

With FRIDAY’s help, Vision had gone through hundreds of encrypted HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D. files, firmly determined to learn about the full extent of Wanda’s powers.

There was no medical cure to her mind control powers, nothing that could scrub it out of people's minds completely, and there were a lot of recorded cases were Wanda’s victims were reduced to drooling, mindless messes. The cases where the victim was practically brain dead limited Dr. Strange’s magic greatly. He could draw out Wanda’s influences on Tony and James, but he couldn’t help many of the attacked Raft jail guard.

Quiet, indistinguishable murmurings escaped Sharon’s mouth as her hand tightened around Vision’s. He shifted closer to her, internally wondering what he would do if Wanda had caused irreversible damage.

Over the past year, Sharon had become a constant in Vision’s life. She was a bright person who Vision found himself enjoying conversations with. Sharon would taste his cooking and would often give him tips on improving, and in return Vision would offer her an ear for her to unload her problems on.

Not to mention, with her around, the kids were as safe as they could be. She was someone who could teach them to protect themselves, and, to Vision, that made her even more important.`

Someone was banging on the doors, loudly and demanding. “FRIDAY,” he heard Clint Barton snarl.

“Open this door!” Steve Rogers demanded.

FRIDAY’s voice was even and perhaps more mechanic than usual. “**The situation does not require your help. A medic team is on its way. Please step away from the doors.**”

Then, even more banging. “Dammit!”

“I’ll use my bypass,” Steve stated, “FRIDAY, CA-31161993125 override.”

Vision’s accurately located said override in nanoseconds and had guessed correctly at its invalidation.

“**Invalid**.”

Another slam to the metal doors. “It must be glitching,” Steve said glumly.

“Or Stark took away our access!” Clint countered furiously.

Vision turned his attention back to Sharon as she groaned and shifted, blonde hair spilling on the floor like a gleaming, yellow river.

Soft sounds erupted from the middle of the room and a golden portal quickly started forming. As soon as it was stable, the doctor stepped through it hurriedly - looking panicked and worried. He kneeled down and Vision shifted Sharon so she was closer to him.

As Stephen began checking her vitals, the doors beeped and- “Sir, move out of the way!” sounded from the entrance before two stretchers were wheeled in.

The medic team were calm and steady, having no doubt been trained to do so and by their own experience. Stephen and Vision let them do their work in lifting Sharon up while a second team helped Wanda.

Sharon was wheeled out, Stephen at the stretcher’s side while Vision floated over to Wanda’s unconscious body, blankly noticing Steve and Clint finally barrel through the doorway and make their way to Wanda.

“Wanda!” Steve yelled and Vision ignored him.

The android grabbed the attention of one of the medics and said, “Make sure to restrain her and keep her under.” The medic nodded and the second stretcher was gone.

Steve and Clint were still in the room, confused and searching for answers. “Vision,” Steve started off cautiously, “what happened? Is Wanda okay?”  
A feeling Vision had only felt a few, short times emerged in him - gripping his body tightly and uncomfortably. “You should be asking if Sharon is okay, considering Ms. Maximoff has attacked her without any restraint.” The feeling was still bubbling but Vision forced it to subside and instead he finished with a tight, controlled, “Goodbye.”

Then he phased through the floor until he arrived at the very last floor, where the workshop sat. “FRIDAY,” he called, “if any of the Rogues attempt to stop the medics from keeping Ms. Maximoff restrained and under, then use a tranquilizer on them. And alert Tony that Sharon has been hurt and tell the team leaders of the accident.”

“**Will do, Vision**,” FRIDAY said grimly. The door to the workshop slid open less than a second later and Tony flew out in a tornado of worried emotions and grease.

His brown eyes bore into Vision, grim and worried but unsurprised. “First day and they’re already making this into a shitshow,” he said bitterly as Vision followed in the direction of the elevator, the android not having any urge to disagree.


	3. Waking up with a Hangover Without Drinking 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” she quietly said, but everything Natasha did was quiet, “I shouldn’t have brought up your ego at the hospital and for turning to Steve’s side.”
> 
> He shrugged casually. “Oh, it’s fine, probably just habit right?” He wanted to slap himself as soon as the words rushed through his mouth.
> 
> Natasha’s face fell, not dramatically like other people, but a slight drop of her shoulders, the tightening of her mouth, and the single twitch in left eye showed how the remark hit her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long, i don’t have an excuse. but this is 4,000 words long soooooo
> 
> i really like my cop duo, even if they only get a few scenes.
> 
> Acacius is honestly a mix of Near from Death Note and Levi from Attack On Titan, plus a lot of random things. Ulima is supposed to project a nicer Draco Malfoy but hotter. Also, both of them are kinda dumb
> 
> ps. Vision deserved better; and yes, there are gay feeling with sharon and natasha (not sure how that will end up.) and Riri/Shuri is real.
> 
> i’m thinking of introducing Jane as Mighty Thor, doing my own thing with the storyline, and having Valkyrie/Jane.
> 
> Why do i wanna have a redemption arch for all the rogues except Steve and Wanda? because they suck

**Chapter 3:** Waking up with a Hangover Without Drinking 101

**8:59 p.m.**

_ U.N. Office Building _

_ Location unknown _

The air in the stuffy room hung thickly, and she could feel a bead of sweat slidding down her neck, unbearably wet and hot. Wanda picked at her fingernails, mind slow and in jumbles.

Her nails were covered in a nice coat of red nail polish that was now chipped, she noticed vacantly, moving her fingers to trace the blinking collar strapped to her neck smugly. Her eyelids were heavy, sedatives still pumping through her blood, as her mind filled with hazy anger.

_ Stark _ , she thought heavily. Her memories were fuzzy and unclear; all she could remember was walking into the training room, silently seething at how rude that - what did he call himself? - _ Sorcerer _ but also partly curious about him. He seemed to have the same powers as her, but a bit more advanced, and she had mentally wondered if he would be training her.

She was sure his rudeness and defensiveness about Stark was a product of him being covered in an uncomfortable amount of dirt. However, all thoughts flew out her mind as she had entered the training room to find Vision being pinned down by a blonde lady who seemed somewhat familiar. Then, her instincts just ran with her powers. The woman went down and Wanda had put her guard down, only faintly registering that Vision was yelling.

Then, something had hit her. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she reached up to touch her forehead. A sharp pain split her head and she winced, her mind suddenly less fuzzy and more aware.

Wanda finally put her hands down, firmly resting them on the table. A second later, she pulled away in disgust at the general sticky wetness of the table and wiped her hands on her pants carefully.

Eventually, she chose to put her hands in her lap and stared at the room she was in. It was as blank as it could be, with a nailed down table in front of her, an uncomfortable folding chair that she was sitting on and two more across from her, and a large reflective mirror taking up the majority of the wall facing her. A normal enough door was at her right - with a black camera intently focused on her, its blinking red light mocking and obnoxious.

There was little she could do in the isolated room, so she passed the time trying to break the collar desperately. Unlike on the horrible underwater prison, she didn’t receive shocks from her powers as they rebounded against the collar’s restrictions. She could barely sense it but there was a faint feeling of her powers getting absorbed into an unknown object - and Wanda was certain that that was even worse than the shock collar.

_ Stark _, she thought again, and with a bit of growl as she suddenly realized she’d snarled the name quietly. “What’ve you done.”

Wanda’s mind boiled, running through a lot of thoughts and enraged musings as time passed. She had never been good at noticing how much time passed during the day but Wanda was certain that at least two hours had passed, enough time for her thoughts to cool and for several momentary attempts at forcably riping the collar off, when the door suddenly and unexpectedly opened while a familiar android phased through the wall the door was attached to.

Two serious, official-looking people, a man and a woman, entering swiftly while Vision passively floated to the corner. Wanda focused her immediate attention on her friend and he stared right at her . . . well, not right at her. Because while his eyes were steely locked on her, his gaze seemed to look straight through her.

“Viz?” she asked hopefully.

Maybe he was here to help her, to explain to ridiculous duo across from her that this was all a big mistake and that Wanda had helped him.

Maybe he would take her away from this small, stuffy room, and hold her tight - perhaps quietly telling her that he had missed her. Her face colored, neck hot, while her darkened mood lightened at her running imagination.

Instead, he fixed his eyes at her more firmly - very suddenly formal and direct as he replied, “Ms. Maximoff, I am here to insure the safety of Detective Brown and Detective Miller. Refrain from addressing me.”

Wanda’s mouth parted and closed noiselessly, completely taken aback as she blushed again, more out of embarrassment than because of anything from before. A strange, quiet buzzing filled her hearing and she settled down robotically - looking away from the android with her eyes burning.

One of the detectives who’d already taken a seat, the woman with dark brown skin, elegant features, and hair pulled up in a ponytail stared at Wanda as if she was laughing at her, watching the short interaction like it was a fascinating tennis mate and with an aggravating air of amusement, her eyebrows pulled together as a small half-smile played her lips. She was actually incredibly beautiful; not just from here appearance but also from the way she confidently walked - as if she _knew_ her strengths and wouldn’t admit her weaknesses easily.

The other one, a pale man with short stature and color-bleached blonde hair, paid them no attention - focusing on flipping a folder down on the table and sitting down. Wanda soon realized that the only average thing about his appearance were his eyes, a boring, solid medium brown.

His expression was cool and carefully blank, a complete opposite of his partner, who smiled at Wanda like one would smile at a particularly naive child.

“Hello, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman began, an elegant British accent lightly coloring her words while her eyes lingered on Wanda, hazel eyes laughing at her mockingly and mercilessly, “I’m Detective Miller.”

“I’m Detective Brown,” Brown said next, the words monotone and practiced with an American accent as he smoothly slipped in after Miller, his eyes blank and shadowed by dark half-moons which were more profound with his milky skin.

But Wanda just _ knew _that he was laughing at her in the same way his partner was, and he continued, “We’re here to ask you some questions.”

**^*^*^**

  
  
  


**9:00 p.m.**

_ Medic Wing, Avengers Compound _

_ Upstate New York, New York _

There was a reason why Tony Stark hated hospitals with a passion that could rival his hatred for Justin Hammer.

The overly bleached smell, the irritable beeping, and the constant feeling of extreme-cleanliness made the place horrible to Tony - who enjoyed spending time in his workshop where there was never a moment of silence and where personal touches adored every square inch of free surface.

A hospital was no place for Sharon Carter.

Great, lively Sharon.

Tony’s cousin Sharon, who was so protective of the Junior Avengers that she spent most of her nights drawing up workout regiments that benefited each of them individually.

Now she was another victim to Wanda’s mind control and hallucinations.Number 89, if Tony remembered correctly and then internally cringed.

It felt wrong to put a number on someone, to treated victims like they were statistics, _ collateral damage _.

No, it was way too close to Rogers’ way of thinking. 

He shifted in his plastic seat uncomfortably and reached for Sharon’s motionless hand with his human one.

Currently, Tony was the only one in the medic wing due to the doctor’s orders to give her space but it was only a few minutes prior was the room crowded with sorcerers and doctors until Wong and Stephen had finally declared her stable.

Sharon’s head was tilted away from him and her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, loose and tangled with knots.

He gripped her hand tighter than before, his eyes burning and his jaw clenching automatically. She could have been lost, gone because of Wanda’s unchecked power and childish rage.

Maybe Sharon could have ended up like some of those guards on the Raft, who’d turned to mumblings messes who couldn’t talk or even think.

A sudden wave of guilt unexpectedly slammed into him. Tony _ had _indirectly caused the accident, after all.

_ He’d _been the one to advocate for the Rogues’ return, practically become the poster boy for it. He was the one who’d spent hours lobbying and pleading to different political leaders.

He frowned, forehead creasing as he lowered his eyes away from his cousin’s unresponsive body. Tony knew how dangerous and unpredictable Wanda could be, like a tornado or a hurricane that rushed in your life unexpectedly, unwelcome, and trashed everything, and he’d still helped her come back to the States.

Helped her hurt Sharon, and just when their relationship was finally taking a turn for the better.

Former emergency plans Tony and his small group of committed friends had made regarding the Rogues if such an accident happened flew out of his mind.

Screw slowly picking them off one at a time and arresting them in a controlled environment. Tony was seeing red and all his anger was currently focus on a 20-something witch.

In the back of his mind, he was faintly aware that bringing Maximoff down immediately would cause Rogers to panic and run, but one glance at Sharon had him streaming in anger and guilt once again.

Their actions before we’re bad enough (_ 37 dead, over a hundred injured or brain manipulated) _ but this was the worst yet.

Before, during the Accords mess,, the Rogues might have some sort of defense, even if it was a shit one, but this incident was completely due to Wanda’s idiocy and failure to ask before shooting. And it was all his fault really.

A wave of grief hit him hard. Hope, face tight and cold with anger, staring at him furiously flashed through his mind (_ “do you even know how many people she’s hurt? Or do you just not care?” _).

She’d been the one who’d worked the most with the victims - and their families - of the Rogues. And she’d been absolutely furious at him for helping them come back, ignoring all his arguments and establishing a private stance against his decision.

Sure, eventually, her icy demeanor melted but she was still cold towards him. _ And for good reason _, Tony thought bitterly - just look at what his actions had caused—

A change of pace on the heart monitor caught his attention and his plummeting train of thought drifted away from him. Under his watchful eye, Sharon’s forehead tensed, wrinkling as her limp hand in Tony’s suddenly twitched.

He felt an urge to call her name but stayed silent as she slowly woke up, dazed and with her other hand drifting to her temple.

“Ugh,” she began with barely any sound - then, much loudly, “what the fuck?”

A smile floated on Tony’s mouth but he made a half-assed effort to keep his expression serious. “Sharon, don’t you remember?”

She blinked at him, her face clearly showcasing that she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Last night, you challenged Carol and Rhodey to a drinking contest! It got pretty bad,” he twisted his mouth into a frown, trying to look truthful and innocent.

Sharon’s confusion increased, and she tilted her head, still massaging her temple and wincing at every one of her movements. “A drinking contest?” she parroted back blankly. Then, curious, “Did I win?”

“Nope. You passed out after gunning a whole bottle of Jagermeister by yourself. Rhodey won.”

“What!? Jim won?” Sharon exclaimed, shooting upright in surprise and rightful outrage - seemingly forgetting about her current pain. “But he’s a fucking lightweight!”

Which, to be fair, was true. Once at a college party, Tony had had the pleasure of witnessing Rhodey getting drunk off a cup of beer and then going around giving unwanted stripdances to anybody and everybody.

He shrugged as Sharon mindlessly went about her rant. “Oh my god, my reputation is ruined. It’s all over. Soon I'll start wearing old granny reading glasses because of my worsening eyesight and I’ll have to go to bed at eight!”

Tony bit back another ongoing grin but failed to smother a chuckle which crawled out of his throat rather forcibly. Sharon stopped and narrowed her eyes.

“You asshole,” she deadpanned, nose scrunched and a scary expression on her face. “You’re a bigger asshole than Chewie.”

“I take offense to that!” Tony gasped, catching the quiet smile on the edge of her face.

However, Sharon quickly grasped her head again and the smile was wiped. She pointedly glared at the I.V. running in her arm, lips pursed distastefully - apparently hating hospitals was a family thing.

Then she looked up, eyes suddenly serious and stormy with conflict. “It was Maximoff wasn't it.”

Tony’s lips tightened, and he could feel his eyes narrowing subconsciously. Body unbelievably tense, he replied, “Yes. She’s in containment now - being questioned. The cops also want your statement . . . but, um, are you feeling okay?”

“Other than a headache and some bruises on my hips” - she firmly but somewhat hesitantly touched her hips and quickly stopped - “but I’m fine.”

He nodded but quietly surveyed her with his eyes. Sharon’s eyebrow quirked up (a habit Tony had never been able to pick up) then returned his worried stare with a roll of her eyes. “Really, Tony. I’m alright.” She reached over and snagged his hand, squeezing it painfully before letting go.

“_ Ow _,” Tony didn’t pout, but it was close, as he rubbed his hand and glared at her smug face. “Just for that I won’t let the kids visit you.”

Sharon’s expression brightened. Her hands clapped together once as she let out a sound that Tony swore was close to a squeal. “The little rugrats came to see me. Oh, that's so sweet!”

His eyes rolled almost involuntarily. “Yeah, right. Everyone knows you actually call them the little brats - with good reason,” he stated, recalled the pestering the kids had done a few months ago when they begged him to let them do a “totally safe” science experiment outside the Compound.

They’d gotten Riri to ask him, because they somehow knew that he’d always had a weird soft spot for her, and the lawn ended up sporting a brand new tattoo at the end of the hour (no matter how hard the landscaping team tried, they couldn’t get it out).

“FRIDAY, let them in,” Tony requested, letting the memories fall away from mind.

At the end of the room, where the automated door sat, the light above it switched from red to green. No less than two seconds later a barrage of children ran in.

Peter and Kamala are the first to reach them, with Harley a second behind and Riri and Shuri adopting a slightly slower pace, their hands intertwined and swinging loosely between them. Tony gently detracted his hand and got up as a second group entered.

“Oh, thank Allah! You’re okay!” Kamala cheered happily, gathering Sharon into a huge hug, her arms embiggening to wrap around the blonde in a dramatic fashion.

Next to the hugging pair, Peter was excitedly alternating between jumping up and tilting back on his heels before Harley grabbed his elbow to steady him, eyebrows raised in annoyance. “Easy, Spiderboy,” Tony could hear his young heir snark.

He reaches Carol, Stephan, and Rhodey just as Peter begins whining, blushing with embarrassment, about the nickname. Stephen gives him a tired smile, reaching down him a kiss, his slightly twitching hand brushing across Tony’s cheek before softly grasping the side of his exposed neck.

He felt a spark of fire from where Stephen was touching him and where their lips touched - then he broke away with a quiet, content smile, his hand lightly touching Stephen’s before firmly stepping away from him. Giving him a small smile, which briefly showcased the deep sleeping bags under his eyes, Stephen walked over to Sharon’s side.

Tony watched him walk away for a second before catching sight of Rhodey’s slightly grossed face, and he reached over to pinch his cheek roughly. “Please, like I haven’t caught you and Carol doing worse,” he teased, finally releasing Rhodey from captivity - laughing under his breath at Rhodey’s flushed face and Carol’s smirk.

“Did you _ really _have to?” Rhodey grumbled.

“Well, yes. If I don’t embarrass you at least daily than I would be a bad friend.”

“You’re a real comedian,Tony.” His friend rolled his eyes.

Carol ignored their conversation, swiping through the mini-tablet inserted into her suit’s arm. Suddenly, she gave a quiet yell of success and did a quick swipe up.

“Finally got a connection,” she sighed as two holograms popped up from her arm - profiles to be exact. “You got sucky connection here.”

Tony’s offended scoff quieted down as he and Rhodey settled and began studying the picture holograms. Carol read the information out loud.

“The two officers from the U.N. questioning Maximoff right now - Detective Acacius Brown and Detective Ulima Miller. Both American - however Detective Miller lived in England for most of her life before transferring to New York.

”There doesn’t seem to be any personal connections between them and the Accords. It seems like Brown’s relatives are spread through out the United States with the majority of his paternal side in France and Germany. Miller’s family is mainly in Britain on her dad’s side while a large part of her mother’s family is in India.”

Acacius Brown looked remarkably bored in his picture. His eyes were dark, with glaring sleeping bags under than - shadowing his otherwise ridiculously pale skin. His features were delicate and astonishingly pretty. Or they would be if his non-existent self-care wasn’t visible enough to clash with his skin and face structure.

According to the information listed next to his picture, he was only five foot five inches. Tony bit back a crowning cheer; finally someone who was shorter than him.

His partner, Ulima Miller, was a brown woman with dark eyes. She carried some English features, such as the skinniness of her face. There was also a sharp chin to boot, but she somehow made them work, and the corner of her mouth was lifted into a halfhearted smirk - even though the profiles were supposed to be strictly professional, no smiles. There was an easy-going feeling in her posture that transferred even across a picture, a skill that her partner didn’t seem to have. 

“Vision _ is _ with them, right?” Rhodey asked with a sense of urgency, only calming down when Carol gave a nod in response. It was clear from his tone that he was really asking if the detectives were being protected against her.

“Security feeds from two minutes ago show that he is still watching from the corner, making sure they aren’t doing anything and . . . , well, vise-versa,” the awkward tone in her voice was quickly cleared away, and she flicked the pictures away to present a new person.

“Mr. Frank Talligada, Maximoff’s council-appointed lawyer. He has an incredible track record.” The blonde man was the most remarkably generic man Tony had ever laid eyes on. He was handsome, sure, but in that vague way most people were if you just caught sight of them on the street. There was nothing _interesting_ about him - almost, there could have been, but not quite. His face’s efforts were offset, however, by the unexpected appearance of his beer belly.

Tony tore his eyes away from the picture and looked over at the swarm of kids, and Stephen, crowding Sharon. Peter was speaking, gesturing wildly with his hands, and Tony watched as he unexpectedly smacked Harley with the back of his hand.

Shuri’s laughter was a mix of snorts and sudden laughs, letting go of Riri’s hand to hold her stomach. Riri and Stephen both rolled their eyes, creepily in sync, as Peter loudly gasped and apologies spilled from his lips. Sharon bit her lip, a grin pulling her mouth. Harley was holding his nose with both his hands, but Peter managed to get Harley to peel his fingers away from the nose by persistent tugging.

Peter’s fingers were a hair’s length away from Harley’s face, but he suddenly thrust a finger to the ridge of Harley’s nose and the _ Ow! _from boy was enough to get Rhodey’s and Carol's attention.

The hologram flickered away as Carol crossed her arms, cracking a smile. She took a step forward, then quickly said, “We’ll talk later,” before calmly walking going to Sharon’s side.

“Tony,” Rhodey murmured. The edginess and slight annoyance in his tone caught his friend’s attention, and he gave him a questioning look.

Rhodey’s lips thinned into a pressed line before he reluctantly jerked his chin up. He turned, putting Rhodey to his back, and saw Romanoff.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, frown pulling distastefully on his lips, as the sea of contained anger in him began stirring.

“What is she doing here?” Rhodey asked as Romanoff’s eyes flickered momentarily to the crowd around Sharon before settling back on Tony.

Her expression was carefully wiped, portraying nothing but professional iciness. “I don’t know,” Tony admitted after a few seconds of his thoughts brewing.

Romanoff was a mystery piece - had been when they started on the same team, and was now - but for all her training, she could never hide her dislike for Tony and her bias to Steve. Or maybe she never really tried too.

Tony let go of _ that _train of thought as his friend placed a comforting hand on his elbow. Despite the appearance of the Russian spy, he half-smiled. It was something that he and Rhodey have been doing since college. It had been so long that he couldn't even remember when it started.

Every now and then, when one of them was stressed or worried, or whatever, the other one would place a hand on them. Not saying anything or having a long conversation, just silently giving a steady hand to support their friend.

“I’ll go,” Rhodey offered, very much sounding like he would rather be trapped in a room full of bugs with no escape. Tony put a hand over his, giving him a false smile.

“No, it’s alright,” he reassured, sounding sullen even to himself. “Go check up on Sharon.”

He hesitated - long enough that Tony worried that he would dig his heels in - then nodded once. “If she does _ anything _. . . ,” Rhodey let the threat hang as he slowly moved away, letting his hand fall.

Tony snorted, his grin feeling significantly less fake. “I think she’ll find herself on the wrong end of a fist before she even tries.”

Rhodey puffed up like a peacock, transforming his hard look into a prideful smirk.

“Carol does have an amazing punch doesn’t she, even when she isn’t using powers,” he continued, not really lying. He was pretty sure some villains that crossed Carol’s path had began rethinking their life choices after getting on the bad side of her punch.

His friend deflated, but nodded in agreement, his hand reaching to rub his arm absentmindedly - no doubt thinking about some punch Carol had thrown at him during their sparring sessions.

They stood there for a second - Tony gathering what little patience he had left and Rhodey watching him warily.

Finally, the engineer strolled out the door with a confidence he didn’t have. He felt Rhodey’s state burning into his back before the door swung behind him and Natasha turned to him, an elegantly waxed eyebrow raised. 

“I have to admit,” Tony began, feeling his nervousness rise as the silence lengthened, “I’m surprised Steve isn’t here.”

Natasha regarding him coolly before playing along. “He wanted to come but I convinced him it was better for you to see me first.”

“Bet that really grated on his ego.” He analyzed her reaction carefully and could see a split-second flinch before the previous mask returned.

It was amazing what looking at someone could help you with. Tony could practically see Natasha choice the apologetic route.

“I’m sorry,” she quietly said, but everything Natasha did was quiet, “I shouldn’t have brought up your ego at the hospital and for turning to Steve’s side.”

He shrugged casually. “Oh, it’s _ fine _, probably just habit right?” He wanted to slap himself as soon as the words rushed through his mouth.

Natasha’s face fell, not dramatically like other people, but a slight drop of her shoulders, the tightening of her mouth, and the single twitch in left eye showed how the remark hit her. Then she was gathering her mask again, now more reserved and blank.

Tony bit his lip, feeling guilt. He knew he could be an asshole with his words, and this wasn’t the first time he’d hurt someone unintentionally. “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

Natasha jerked her head as to say _ it’s alright _. “Is Sharon alright?” she asked lowly.

The tone of the question almost made it seem like she cared about the answer. “She’s doing better. No psychological damage or physical - just a little headache.”

A smile graced Natasha’s lips. Tony could believe his eyes. She caught his confusion and smile was chased away. “Agent 13 and I went on some missions together. It was nice,” she stated softly. “She made me eat sushi and almost choked on wasabi.”

Unsure of how to respond, he nodded, knowing all too well how Sharon liked to eat the strongest food just to show that she can.

“I’m keeping Steve contained,” she abruptly said. “He wanted to storm the castle, kill the beast, save the princess, and whatnot.” She rolled her eyes.

“Why?”

She eyed him like he was an idiot. “I’ve read the new Accords. They’re - I think they could do some good. And Steve would ruin all the hard work if he tried to _ save _ Maximoff.”

He didn’t miss the last name usage. “I don’t understand.”

“I was,” she cut off, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I was wrong. In Wakanda, Maximoff was having these . . . episodes. Not really breakdowns, but she would go comatose for almost the entire day, just completely still with her eyes and the areas around her red. Steve would just brush it off with the excuse of the Raft, Clint said it was your fault, and Sam and Scott avoid all four of us after her first episode.”

His curiosity was piqued and he waited for her to continue. “I didn’t mention it to anybody and now Sharon is hurt. And I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you so you know that I’m on your side.”

The words automatically popped out. “I don’t trust you.”

Natasha nodded with understanding, her eyes focusing intently on his. “I know, and I’m fine with that. I just wanted to let you know that if you need help or if you’re desperate enough…”

He laughed, because it was meant as a joke - even if it fell flat, and the appreciation and relief in his chest was echoed in her eyes.

Tony nodded and got one in return. The spy turned hesidently to the hospital doors, seemingly trying to decide whether to enter or not. He didn’t speak a word - not to warn her away from his family or to assure her that she would be welcome; he didn’t know if that was true.

Decidedly, the redhead turned on her heel and walked away from the doors, jaw set and shoulders undeniably tense.

Tony knew that it had been a good conversation, it would be a shame to ruin it. But the question tugged on his mind and, not one for restraint, he called out, “Did you know?”

Natasha stopped in her tracks, not turning. “About my parents’ murder?” he clarified.

She could lie, but Tony would follow up her answer to confirm it was the truth. He would never trust her if he found out she had lied. He hoped she didn’t lie.

“He promised me he’d tell you,” she admitted to the quiet hallway, before moving out of his sight. An anxious breath puffed out of his mouth, a small interruption to the loud pounding of his heart.


	4. I Pity the Fool . . . Who Angers Hope van Dyne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has it all, supernatural references, lesbos, bad jokes, and foreshadowing - not actually in that order!
> 
> btw: i fear no god but kpop stans, those crazy b’s.

**Chapter 4: ** _ I Pity the Fool . . . who angers Hope van Dyne _

  
  


**3:51 a.m.**

_ Conference Room 3D, Avengers Compound _

_ Upstate New York, New York _

The fire that was crackling in the fireplace wasn’t an actual fire, and the fireplace wasn’t an actual fireplace. No, putting a fireplace in the Avengers Compound would be, according to the builders and architects, stupid and irresponsible.  _ Joke’s on them _ , Tony had told her as they stared at the blank wall where he’d planned to put the fireplace,  _ I prefer holographic fires anyway _ .

So, now, Hope watched a make-believe fire that FRIDAY was projecting onto a wall because having an actual fireplace would be stupid and irresponsible.

It was amazing, she thought, half-hysterical, that Tony still managed to be stupid and irresponsible even without the fireplace. She stared at the fire from her comfortable spot on top of one of the overstuffed armchairs dotting the conference room, ignoring the people staring at her, almost cautiously, as if waiting to see if she would be the first to speak.

Carol and Jim’s entrance caught her attention and her lips tightened instinctively. Where Jim goes, Tony was never far.

Sure enough, a second later, Tony shuffles into the room, supporting Sharon with an arm - although she seemed to be rolling her eyes at him more than attempting to walk.

“Are you sure you should be up?”

Sharon purposefully rolled her eyes once again, and Tony’s scowl deepened. She moved herself away from his steadying hands and collapsed on an armchair.

Her hand automatically went to her head, which was still feeling the after-effects of the pounding headache. Tony, unfortunately, caught the movement.

“I knew it! You still have a headache,” he accused with a pointing finger in Sharon’s face. “Stephen should do another check-up. Stephen!” he yelled at the man, who’d just entered the room and looked used to having his name yelled, “you need to give Sharon another checkup.”

Tony stared at him expectantly, hands on his hips, while Stephen just stared at him unflinchingly. “Well?” the engineer finally said after a long minute of the doctor staring at him blankly.

Well, not blankly; Stephen, even without really trying, always had a distinctive air of judgement – something that usually put other people on the instant defense. It was something Hope couldn’t help but notice. But she also couldn’t help but notice that it never offended Tony. He never took offence to Stephen’s tone, almost like he knew that it wasn’t meant to be condescending.

Stephen sighed tiredly. “I already checked her. She’s  _ fine _ ,” he put pressure on the last word.

Tony huffed and stalked closer to him, before gripping his boyfriend’s arms and shaking him back and forth. “She could  _ die _ , Stephen! I mean, look at her,” he let go to gesture wildly in Sharon’s general direction, “she’s looks horr-“

“Excuse me?” Sharon smiled at her cousin eerily as he turned to her slowly, giving her a large, nervous smile.

“-amazing!” he laughed loudly. “What else could I mean? Clearly, you made a deal with the devil to look so beautiful, even now!” He caught the unimpressed look she now had and quickly retracted. “I mean, of course you look like a million bucks, obviously-“

“You just said that she looks horramazing,” Stephen cut him off suddenly, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. At the looks of confusion pointed to him, he clarified, “It sounds like amazing whore. Tony just called her an amazing whore.”

Jim snorted before quickly quieting down at the glare Tony sent his way, his mouth settling on a lopsided grin that was mirrored on Carol’s face. Sharon’s eyes closed for a long second, huffing out a sigh as her fingers dug into her forehead. Stephen was biting back his smile as his boyfriend’s glare quickly shifted over to him.

It was all very funny, sure, all friendly and warm, so  _ happy _ – except Hope wasn’t feeling any of those things. Her emotions were swirling inside her, barely staying put underneath the cold, blank expression that she regularly sported. A sudden pain in her palm led her to realize that she was unintentionally digging her nails into her palm and made a conscious decision to uncurl her fingers.

“What happening to Maximoff?” she asked, chasing the smiles away from everyone and feeling a grim satisfaction at managing to get rid of the happy atmosphere. “Has the Council decided anything?”

Her eyes were only on Tony, and everyone seemed to sense that she was waiting for him to answer so they didn’t say anything. Tony avoided her eyes and Hope could almost see his walls go up, and she could admit to herself that it hurt to see him closing himself off. Tony was her friend, no matter how much they disagreed about issues. He wasn’t supposed to put on his press mask with any of them.

But, no

Yeah, it hurt her in that indirect way that Tony seemed to always trigger, but she had met with families. Families of victims and she’d listened to them. Every person that was willing to talk with her. She knew – her feelings couldn’t reach the same level of grief, anger, sadness that each of them felt, her feelings of empathy could only extend that far, and she had no right to those feelings, not really.

But she’d witnessed their emotions firsthand. She might not have a right to feel the same as them, but she’d made a promise to all of them – a nonverbal promise to get justice for them and their loved ones.

The indirect feelings of hurt she felt for Tony, even if they were friends, even if their relationship was much more personal, could never measure to the hurt those families felt. No, that wasn’t fair – so Hope kept her cold façade up, not letting one muscle shift in her jaw, not letting her mouth curl downwards.

“Her lawyer,” the inventor began, finally starting as Stephen shifted closer to him and gently brushed his trembling hand across Tony’s right hand (the prosthetic – a sore point for him), which seemed to calm him, “has already presented a defense to the council. Unfortunately, it’s good.”

His expression seemed to tighten and he gave Hope a cautionary look before continuing, “he’s saying Maximoff’s time in the Raft, with the collar and everything, left a traumatic mark on her and she can’t be held accountable for her actions as of currently because of her  _ questionable  _ mental state.”

The words processed through her head far more slowly than she would have liked. Hope was aware, in the kind of distinct way she usually noticed things, that everyone was looking at her warily, awaiting her reaction. She didn’t care; the anger was bubbling now, and it was the kind of anger she couldn’t even try to contain, an anger that she’d seen in her father, an anger that couldn’t be pushed down.

“Damn it, Tony!” she exploded, hair whipping around as she jumped up from her seat. Her face felt uncomfortably hot with anger as Tony leaned away from her while Stephen noticeably moved so he somewhat obstructed her view of Tony.

Hope should have felt that the shielding from her was ridiculous, but she could really care in the mess her hazy anger left her in. “Sharon is hurt right down, because you decided to advocate for them! I don’t care what your reasons are. They. Don’t.  _ Matter _ . All the death and hurt they’ve caused; all the families they hurt! Do they just not matter to you? And now this? First day and mental manipulation is the first offense. What next? Killing  _ another _ person then explaining it away because their ‘mental health’ is in a questionable place? I just- “

She trailed off, feeling her anger tamper, and her next words were more tired than mad. “I just don’t understand how you could do this.”

“Hope . . . ,” he didn’t finish, looking as if he was struggling to finish the sentence.

She halted him with a silencing hand. “No,” she sounded so tired, even to herself, “just don’t.”

She sat back on her armchair, feeling a bone-deep tiredness. It was a tiredness that couldn’t be healed with a good night’s sleep but instead it stayed with you forever, just eating away at you until all that was left was a corpse with nothing to show for it except for the dark sleeping bags until its eyes.

“You have to understand, Hope, please,” he pleaded. “What’s coming, I can feel it, it’s big. We need all the help we can get. Please, just trust me.”

Her outburst helped, she realized while listening to his vague and confusing explanation. The emotions were no longer being cooked in a pressure cooker, so her mind was much clearer. And she began thinking. Despite everything, she couldn’t be like Tony’s former teammates, and so she paid attention to the warnings in his words.

Something big, so big that the current Avengers line-up couldn’t handle it. So big that Tony thought the Rogues needed to be brought back. He’d shared it with the Council, that was something she absolutely knew, and, if Hope had to guess, Jim was probably the only one in the room to know as well.

But there was also the opposite of the argument. Did the actions of the Rogues get outweighed by their usefulness against whatever the threat was? Was the pain they inflicted on people become inconsequential in the grand scheme of things?

Maybe there could be a middle ground, although she quite sure she could find it. “Steve and Wanda,” she suddenly said, startling Tony – who’d taken to awaiting her reply with increasingly tensing shoulders. “The others,” she waved her hand, “they’re just puppets without strings, basically, without Steve and Wanda driving them. They did the most damage.” She snapped her eyes up and asked Tony, “Do you think any of them can change.”

Tony was quiet, and the seconds dragged on, before he finally said, “Natasha approached me earlier and apologized for everything.  _ Everything _ .” The emphasis was lost on Hope, but she figured that it wasn’t for her to understand. “She offered her help. Scott, he seems like a good man from what I’ve read and heard, just one who got a serious case of hero worship. Sam is the same, a little bias and with quick judgment, but I think both of them are starting to wake up from the Captain America fever dream. Clint . . . is harder to read but I think he’s just too bitter to actually admit he made mistakes, especially with his impending divorce. Retirement is probably in his future since his skills aren’t really needed, but they were a package deal, so, all of them got pardoned.”

Another pause, shorter now, then, “Barnes isn’t at fault for the Winter Soldier’s murders but the skills he learned are probably still there. He’ll be useful, and he doesn’t seem buddy-buddy with Rogers. His mind is a bit trickier but . . . I think BARF could help with some modifications. But it’s difficult to tell if he’d even want to join. Shuri mentioned that- “

He stopped, thinking as his lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “She mentioned that he’d begun to look after a herd of sheep when he woke up.”

It was funny to him, Hope could see, but Tony thankfully reframed from cracking a joke.

“So, she’s just going to go free?”

Ulima noted Acacius’s purposefully emotionless tone and the barely-there clenching of his fist.

“Yup,” she replied passive aggressively, twisting her engagement ring along her finger. It was a pretty white gold thing that she’s received only a few weeks ago, a simple band that better suited her - and her line of work - than a flashy one would have.

Turning it around her finger helped her think better. Before the ring, she’d regularly play with a small fidget cube that Acacius had gifted her for Hanukkah, a holiday she celebrated by proxy by having a Jewish girlfriend ( _ fiancee now, remember? _ ) and a Jewish police partner to celebrate the winter season with - while she herself was a devout atheist.

Rachel - she fondly remembered - hated that cube.

It was one of the things that they were complete opposites at. While she enjoyed moving her fingers in someway to think, needed background noise in order to focus on whatever task at hand, Rachel loved silence and self-isolation. She often considered it adorable how ultra-focused, boarding on almost-obsessed, her girlfriend ( _ really need to start remembering the  _ fiancee  _ part, dude _ ) could get but it was incredibly irritating when she was in the mood for  _ noise _ .

Hanging around Acacius when she was in such a mood was better. And Maximoff was getting her in that mood. She tightened her hold on the ring, feeling hot sweat beginning to slick her finger, and then let go quickly.

Ulima got up rather suddenly, her chair squeaking in protest as she faintly noted Acacius’ straightening posture. She clearly had his attention and his peaked expression expected her to say something, but she found herself unable to force words out of her mouth. So, she paced. And Acacius’s expression didn’t flinch as the seconds passed dully.

Rachel’s expression, she knew from experience, would have been slowly getting tighter, her patience reaching its level incredibly quick. It was those little differences that had always led Ulima to prefer Acacius instead of Rachel when she was in one of her moods. She loved Rachel, really. She had been it for Ulima since they’d met in college. Their first week as an official couple, still shy and hesitant as one of the only openly gay couples, was highlighted by Ulima thinking  _ i would let this girl punch me if she asked me nicely _ when Rachel had verbally attacked a frat boy for a off-hand remark ( _ “look at the lesbos! think they’ll kiss if we ask?” _ ).

But her relationship with Acacius was different. They’d known each other for approximately two years, yet their quirks and habits had complimented together even after some rough bumps - mostly due to some mid-timed short jokes. Their partnership, their friendship, was practically perfect in Ulima’s opinion - such as -

“Thoughts?” he said idly, voice carrying across the mostly empty, closet-sized room.

“I just,” she started jerkily, before collapsing back into her seat and sighing, “I’m angry. What is this?! Isn’t the “Accords Council” and all that bullshit suppose to hold psycho-maniacs like her accountable or some shit? Holy God.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Acacius loosen his posture and sink back into his chair. “Vision was nice,” he noted mindlessly. “And you’re an atheist.”

She snorted and said, “yeah, but I get a pass because of forced Sunday school,” because Vision was nice and it was true, then turned her thoughts back to Maximoff’s snotty face and the unfairness of it all - really.

***^*^***

In her  _ cell _ , Wanda spewed - in everything. Vision hovered in the corner,  _ not meeting her eyes _ . Once the detectives had taken their leave, she’d tried - making desperate attempts at starting conversations - to get him to talk to her. But he’d stayed as still as the chair she occupied and gave her no thought, so she gave up. Clearly, she would find no ally with him. Stark had gotten to him, poisoning him against his first love.

The collar, so vile and evil that it practically stunk Stark, so solid -

But, there was a leak. So small, so very unnoticeable, but enough. Her powers were limited, though, but enough could get past - through the leak and out to the world, to seek and dig.

In the chaos whirring of her brain, two things made themselves quite clear.

Stark, he would go first. She’d play the role and sneak past defenses. And once the slightest opportunity presented, Tony Stark would be gone. Really, it would be poetic justice - her family’s murderer, killed by her own hands. She imagined his blood staining her hands, wrapping her hands around his, oh, so vulnerable throat and  _ squeezing _ . 

And, after she’d already tasted the blood of the famed  _ Merchant of Death _ , she’d come after that detective duo - just to show them that they should watch who they laugh at. The man annoyed her the most, she’d torture him first - physically, until he thinks it was the worst it could possibly get, then get at him mentally - all while that laughing woman watched.

She’ll  _ really  _ show them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like hope and i’d fuck every woman (+tony) in the mcu except wendy  
(that’s not saying much because i’d also fuck dean winchester’s car, so;;; caraility???)  
enjoy your healthy dose of casual representation
> 
> also, what am i doing in this story you may ask?? idk
> 
> did i have to give a throwaway cop character a jewish girlfriend and a semi-backstory? no, but i wanted to
> 
> made up facts about the cop duo that will never come up (i think):
> 
> -ulima’s mom is anti-semitic and a devout christian but tries to limit her remarks around rachel  
—she’s referred to rachel as “jew girl” more than once  
—-rachel is glad her almost mother-in-law lives in the u.k.
> 
> -rachel’s a lesbian
> 
> -ulima’s pansexual
> 
> -the frat boy’s name was chad
> 
> -acacius is straight but gets less pussy because work is the real pussy (idk)
> 
> -both of them had been laughing at wendy on the inside
> 
> -vision was actually playing solitaire with friday to distract himself while he was left alone with her  
—friday was winning
> 
> i really don’t know where this story is going,,,,hahum
> 
> might fuck around and kill tony :/


End file.
